


A Touch of Magic

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breathplay, Corsetry, Infidelity, M/M, Prostitution, Sex Toys, Snarry-A-Thon17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-23 22:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: Severus is shocked when the green-eyed rentboy he’d requested turns out to be second-in-command MLE Auror Harry Potter himself, working weekends to spice up his dull sex life. Will Harry carry through with the evening when he realises his client is his supposedly dead former professor?





	A Touch of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods, to the prompter and to badgerlady. It’s not really a traditional rentboy story, but I gave it a shot. Enjoy!
> 
> Prompt: An old-fashioned rentboy fic

Being dead was dull.

Severus refused to give up his wand, even though he was forced to live in Muggleland with Muggle neighbors and work at a Muggle university. Muggles were tedious. They drank too much, spent far too much money on trivial, non-essential garbage, were prone to chemical addictions and had developed as much of a dependency on technology as wizards had on magic.

So, bereft of the magical community – admittedly, by choice – Severus made do.

He wasn’t a social creature by nature and had never felt the need for constant companionship or even for a small circle of friends. He’d had them – friends – here and there, but when it came down to it, he trusted very few people enough to move from acquaintanceship to friendship.

Relationships, then, which were, he realised, based upon trust, were out of the question. He wouldn’t dream of inflicting another person upon himself full-time, crowding the small cottage with another person’s belongings, making mutual decisions about wall colours and evening meals.

He worked in Edinburgh, where the chances of crossing paths with someone who’d recognise him were slim. Slimmer still with his Muggle clothing and short hair, and the goatee he’d grown to further disguise his face. But he was, beneath it all, a human being, magical or not, and human beings had needs. Physical needs.

And when those needs were too long denied, Severus Snape was even more an arse than usual.

“Time to get laid, Severus,” Angelica Merz said to him after his Friday afternoon lecture let out. She’d been standing in the back of the hall for the second half of the lecture, frowning at him. It had put him off his intimidation techniques.

He snapped his briefcase shut and glared at her, despite knowing full well that she was right.

“Quit glaring. You know I’m right. It’s been ages. Don’t you have some young man down in London you see?”

Actually, yes. 

Not young man, though. Men would be more like it. It wasn’t always the same one from visit to visit. Antoinette knew what he liked and she always set him up with the best available for his specific needs. He’d never been disappointed. Muggles might be addicted to technology, prone to enjoy bad movies, and too easily distracted by drugs and alcohol, but they could be quite inventive when it came to sex and quite willing to try new things if it meant more money in their pockets when the night was over. 

Especially Antoinette’s young men. But then again, he paid a premium to stay on her client list. Her boys were carefully chosen, well-educated in their art, and in the best of physical conditions. They knew she screened her clientele with extreme care, and felt safe to stretch their limits, so to speak, when their clients so demanded.

In the Wizarding world, however….

Case in point, Severus had never, in his twenty adult years in the Wizarding world, come across a male sexual partner who would wear a corset. Homosexual partners – yes. Partners – homosexual or otherwise - willing to get up to all sorts of kinkiness in the bedroom? Not so much. Wizards were odd birds. Uptight. Morally upright. 

Well, in the bedroom, anyway. When it came to good versus evil, morals went right out the window.

But yes, his colleague Angelica was correct. It had been too long. Time to pop down to London for a weekend and check into that above-average, look-the-other-way hotel he’d been lucky enough to find in those early days after Voldemort and Nagini and before Edinburgh. On Saturday morning, he’d pop up to Hogsmeade to stock up on Firewhiskey and pick up his owl post from Aberforth.  He’d get to London in time for a lively round Saturday afternoon, and then enjoy a comfortable bed and a good night’s sleep.

He had an odd urge the next morning, though, and texted Antoinette. Slight change of plans – the arrogant blond Draco Malfoy phase was getting old. A brunet this time, and a bonus if she could come up with one with green eyes.

oooOooo

His room was clean, comfortable and, most of all, private. Room 525 was a corner room on the top floor, with a view of the park and, as a precaution, he always rented the room next door and the one below, even though he had complete confidence in his silencing charms. He’d upgrade the bed linens if it wouldn’t look suspicious, but the young men he procured from Antoinette visited this hotel frequently and would notice luxurious sheets or real down pillows.

He showered and changed as soon as he checked in, then stored his supplies in the drawers. It was early still, so he put the crime novel he’d picked up last week on the nightstand and settled in with a week’s worth of _The Daily Prophet_ and a glass of wine, scoffing as he read what passed for news now in the Wizarding world.

What passed for news, apparently, was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, rising star of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Second in command at the tender age of twenty-eight. Fearless, decorated, dedicated, hard-working, and _Witch Weekly’s_ “Most Shaggable Wizard Alive” four years running. (Severus had been more than disturbed to learn that he’d been a runner up in 1999 for the rag’s “Most Shaggable Dead Wizard” award).

Harry Potter who had surprised no one by marrying Ginny Weasley, and who was already the father of two children, with another on the way. Rumour had it that the Weasley girl had forced his hand after finding him in bed with her much-older Quidditch team manager, a Hufflepuff witch whom Severus remembered from Hogwarts for her besting of Sirius Black in arm wrestling.

Yesterday’s _Prophet_ featured a writeup of a recent sting operation, led by Potter the Brave, and a quarter-page photograph of Potter and what might have been a first-year boy looking at brooms through the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The photo was taken from the inside of the shop and focused on Potter’s face and upper body. The light was nearly perfect and Potter’s Lily-green eyes were rather nicely emphasised.

Interesting. When had Potter had his eyes corrected? The absence of spectacles was a most pleasant change.

Severus shifted in his chair, then glanced at his mobile. Ah. Yes. What nice timing. The image of a raven-haired, possibly green-eyed rentboy morphed cleanly from the family man pictured in _The Prophet._

He shifted again as his cock stirred. His thoughts strayed to the emerald green corset with black laces laid out on white paper in the long drawer below the television. Antoinette knew to send someone amenable to Severus’ rather unusual kink, and he admitted to a bit of a mild sadistic streak. Lacing his rentboy up – tightly – brought him nearly indescribable pleasure. Lacing  up first, _then_ fucking him through the mattress.

He stood a few minutes later to put away the newspapers with their moving photographs and had just closed the drawer when the rap sounded on the door.

It was a soft knock – three short raps – and Severus checked through the peephole to verify that it was his companion for the evening.

It was.

A mop of dark hair, medium-height, dressed in tight jeans and an indecent leather jacket. Head turned, glancing down the corridor toward the elevator. 

Severus opened the door.

“Hi.”

The voice was low and sultry, and the man on the other side lifted his head, a flirtatious smile on his face, and locked eyes with Severus.

Green eyes, in an attractive face. An attractive, recognisable face. A face he’d just finished admiring in _The Prophet._ A face that belonged to Harry fucking Potter.

_Fuck!_

It was apparent, within a heartbeat, that Potter recognised him too, through the beard, the short hair, the Muggle clothing, and the ten years that had passed. Even as Severus quickly backed up and pushed the door shut, Potter moved forward, insinuating himself between door and doorframe, the same panic and surprise on his face as Severus wore on his own.

“I knew it – I knew you were alive.”  Potter wedged a shoulder against the door as Severus considered going for his wand. He had no doubt he could best Harry Potter, despite Potter’s Auror training and his ten-year hiatus from daily Wizarding life. He briefly considered that he’d stumbled into some sort of sting, but no. Potter was on his own. No Aurors were popping in to help him. And that look on Potter’s face – it was pure and unadulterated panic. Panic at being recognised. But another emotion soon rose to the surface. Surprisingly, it was anger. 

“Do you know how long I _looked_ for you?” Potter managed to look – and sound – both angry and incredulous. “Everyone thought I was crazy, Snape. Shacklebolt sent me to a mind healer, you bastard!” 

“Get out,” Snape hissed, leaning against the door with his full weight and feeling a bit ridiculous for acting so Muggle.

“No. You can’t just – no. Let me in. I – I can explain.”

Severus handily ignored the man’s apparent obsession with finding him and moved on to to the sordid here and now. “Explain why the second in command at the MLE is working as a _rentboy_ on the weekends?” he hissed, reversing course and throwing open the door, causing Potter to nearly fall forward inside. He slammed the door shut and faced Potter defensively, his wand now drawn.

Potter, breathing heavily, didn’t draw his own  wand. Was he foolish enough not to carry it? He stared at Snape, stared at the wand, shaking his head slowly.

“Escort – we prefer _escort_ ,” he said, more as a reflex than a protest. “Merlin – sweet holy Merlin. It _is_ you.” He cracked a smile, now, slow realisation dawning. “Love the beard – very nice touch.” He studied Snape from top to bottom but didn’t move toward him.  His eyes landed on the  wand once again. “Where did you get it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Snape snapped.

“The wand. You left yours in the Shrieking Shack. I – I still have it.”

Snape frowned. He’d had this one made while he was headmaster – while Ollivander had been held prisoner in Malfoy Manor, when he’d clearly seen the writing on the wall and began making his plans. He’d never even thought of going back for his original one but knowing that Potter had it unsettled him.

“That doesn’t concern you,” he said. “Just rest assured that it is as functional as my old one.”

Potter frowned, then an odd look crossed his face. “Wait – Antoinette said you’re a _regular_.”

Severus straightened up, wand still trained on Potter. Potter, however, didn’t seem at all worried about said wand, all but ignoring it as he continued to study Severus. His implication was clear. Wizards didn’t hire prostitutes. Wizards didn’t engage in _creative_ sexplay.

_Right._

Severus tapped the wand against his left hand menacingly, now knowing how to rid himself of Potter permanently.

“Exactly,” he said haughtily. “And I have prepaid for the services of one of her _escorts_.” He could end this very quickly and maintain a fragment of his dignity. “The only way – and I repeat - the _only_ way – you will be in this room after I count to ten is if you intend to provide said services.” He wiggled the wand in his hand for emphasis, insinuating that said wand would be involved in the forcible removal of Potter’s person from the premises.

He knew there was no chance in hell Potter would choose to stay.

“You don’t sound the same.” Potter stood up straighter, apparently gaining confidence. He glanced around the room. His eyes moved back to Severus, coming to rest briefly on his neck.

“One.”

Potter  narrowed his gaze.

“Two.”

“Wait – ”

“Three. Four.”

Potter wet his lips, looking slightly panicked, and still indecisive.

“Five. Six. Seven.” Severus counted as he moved to the door and gripped the doorknob. “Eight.”

Potter sighed. 

“Alright. I’m staying.”

What?

“You’re staying.”

“I said I’m staying.” Potter repeated, enunciating each word defiantly. 

Severus raised a challenging eyebrow, and watched, impressed, as Harry Potter all but disappeared inside the rentboy’s personna.

“Liam,” Potter said, giving Severus a flirty smile as he began to unzip his jacket, taking his time with it. He peeled it off, shrugging it off his shoulders then removing it, one snug sleeve at a time. Severus automatically held out his hand for it, then let it drop immediately to the floor.

Sweet Merlin beloved, could he really go through with it? 

It was a bluff – it had to be.

Severus, sweeping his gaze over the man before him, decided to call it.

A dozen warning bells sounded in his head. Trap? He thought not. Repercussions? No – if Potter spilled his secret, he’d spill Potter’s right back. Wise? Decidedly not, but he was already too far gone to back-pedal. Infidelity? That was on Potter, not on him. He wasn’t supposed to even know his rentboy, and it certainly wasn’t his job to keep him on the moral high ground.

Potter glanced at the coat on the floor, then back at Severus. He looked – amused. 

“Well, I suppose we need to state the agreed-upon terms,” he said, sticking to Antoinette’s familiar script. “Before we – begin.”

Antoinette was a stickler for this precursor to all professional activities. Severus, on familiar ground, stated the terms. “Three hours, beginning at the time we verbally agree to terms. You will allow me to dress you in any attire I choose and to pose you in any fashion I desire. Any sort of photography is strictly prohibited. All sexual acts in the book are on the table, excepting those activities that deliberately inflict pain upon the other. I will lead, you will follow my lead. At the end of the agreed-upon three hours, I reserve the right to extend our contract for an additional three hours.”

“The additional three  hours are charged at double the original rate,” Potter added. He looked at Snape suspiciously. “And you didn’t cover toys.”

“I  acknowledge the additional charges,” Severus stated. “And any toy I might use is fully compliant with Madam Dubois’ terms.”

“From the approved supplier list, medical grade,” Potter reiterated.

Snape narrowed his eyes. He so disliked this part of the experience. Antoinette’s boys were so ruddy businesslike when it came to terms. It was enough to wilt a promising erection. She’d certainly trained them well.

“In short, _Liam_ , I won’t put anything up your arse I wouldn’t put up my own.”

Potter’s mouth twitched. “With the possible exception of your own cock,” he quipped.

At this point, Snape could certainly have pointed out that he was a wizard, but the gleam in his eye apparently conveyed his thoughts, and an odd look passed over Potter’s face.

“I have one more condition – not in your contract,” he said, looking Snape directly in the eye. “No magic.”

And while Snape hadn’t even considered the possibility – he’d only been presented with a wizard rentboy a few minutes ago – his mind was immediately filled with the possibilities. Conjured or magical restraints, magically suspended mirrors, lube with certain unexpected properties… His face must have betrayed him again, because Potter was frowning.

“Not negotiable, Snape.”

“Fine. Agreed.” But even as he said the words aloud, he thought it a pity, a wasted opportunity.

Potter seemed to relax into his alter ego again, and Snape forced his mind to shift back to the Muggle reality of where he was and what he was about to do. It was a tryst like any other, just a man and his lover, about to engage in the oldest act in the world, as he’d done many times before in this same room.

The boy rubbed his arms – he was wearing only a tight t-shirt and the room was a bit chilly.

“Then we’ll get started,” Severus said. He turned his back briefly to walk over to the chair he’d placed in the far corner of the room, then sat down, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them.

“I want to see your body. Now. So strip. Slowly.”

This, he thought, would be the real test to see just how far Potter was willing to go.

But Potter, obviously in familiar territory despite the anomaly of the supposedly dead man in the room, took hold of the hem of his tight black t-shirt and slowly worked it up, revealing toned abs and – oh my – a completely hairless chest. His treasure trail was noticeably absent as well. He pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it at his feet, then smiled saucily at Severus as he toed off his shoes. Severus briefly wondered how he explained his hairless state to his wife, then remembered that Potter had a wand and could very certainly regrow hair with a simple spell.

Had _two_ wands, apparently.

Ah, the possibilities of magic!

 _No._ He couldn’t allow his mind to drift like that. 

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, voice a low purr, as Potter’s hand moved to the top button of his button-fly jeans.

They locked eyes and a fierceness in Potter’s that came and went in a heartbeat let Severus know it was Potter who was answering, not Liam.

The young man gave a casual shrug. “A few years. I’m not new at this, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He undid the first button, hands working in slow motion, and added, in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “I came across Antoinette on an undercover job five years ago. I was…intrigued.”

“Intrigued?” Severus questioned.

Potter sighed. “Look, Snape. I know what I’m doing. And I assure you – I’m very, very good at it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Severus answered, watching as the deft fingers finished with the buttons and started to work the tight jeans down muscular legs.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Muscular, well-shaped thighs and calfs. Legs that were smooth and completely hairless. He had a feeling he’d be sending Antoinette flowers after tonight. She certainly understood Severus’ tastes and had outdone herself this time.

Outdone herself, he thought, as Potter stepped out of his jeans and kicked them aside, wearing nothing but a tight pair of black pants, in more ways than she could possibly know.

Severus let out his breath in a long, slow exhale. He was half hard already, and he hadn’t even touched the boy yet.

He nodded toward the bathroom. 

Potter went without a word, closing the door softly behind him, and Snape relaxed into the chair, staring thoughtfully at the door. 

He knew very well why he was here himself.

He was an unpleasant, unattractive man who wanted – needed – sex but had no desire for a relationship. Who wanted physical pleasure without the personal entanglements of a spouse or partner.  Sex, for Severus Snape, was about carnal pleasure. Paying for it ensured that he got what he wanted, when he wanted it. Paying a far-above-market premium gave him the safety and discretion he demanded.

But Potter – why was Potter here?

Potter, a successful Auror, married to his childhood sweetheart, father, savior and all-around hero.

Harry Potter, who had exactly the kind of life he’d probably always dreamed of having, was working for Antoinette DuBois as a high-price rentboy, walking the fine edge between mere sex and deviance.

He tucked the thought away as the bathroom door opened, thinking that he’d have his answers before the night was over, but he wasn’t about to jeopardise a delightfully fulfilling evening by demanding answers before they got a few steps further along. And  Potter was obviously hoping to get answers of his own, or he’d certainly have fled while he had the chance.

Potter was still wearing the skimpy pants and Severus tossed him a different pair, made in the same green as the corset. Potter caught them up and dangled them from one finger, admiring the lacy open-crotch garment, then dropping it on the bed and pulling the black pants down with his thumbs. He turned away from Severus as he bent to remove them, giving Severus his first good look at an arse nearly as perfect as they came. He took up the new pair, and turned back to Severus to pull them on, arranging cock and balls so they hung out the opening, leaving the base of his cock covered by an inch of lace. 

_A nice bit of trim_ , thought Severus, smiling at his choice of word.

Potter ran his hands up his thighs and around his hips, skirting his crotch with his thumbs.

“Lovely,” he said, his voice low, demure. He stood there, waiting patiently. He’d obviously been schooled by Antoinette. Severus did like to be in charge, after all. And he detested an overabundance of body hair.

Well, in for a penny.

Severus stood, opened the drawer below the television, and extracted the corset. He sat back in the chair, his cock even harder now as he felt the familiar weight of the garment. He’d already loosened the laces and he eyed Potter – definitely more muscular than Devon, the last partner Antoinette had provided. He took his time adjusting the ties, picturing as he did just how well-wrapped Potter was going to be when he was finished. 

The corset was old-fashioned. He’d procured it from an antiquities dealer some time ago. True whalebone, meant to press the bust up and cinch the waist in. He pitied the woman who’d worn this a hundred years ago or more, as it compressed the diaphragm and, after vigorous exercise, left one mercilessly  short of breath.

Which made the entire sexual experience a bit more….interesting.

“Have you worn one of these before, Liam?” he asked as he worked on the garment, not raising his eyes but knowing – with absolute certainty – that the young man was watching him closely.

“No.” The word was a bit breathy, a bit strangled.

“Good.” Severus looked up. “I’ll enjoy breaking you in, then.”

There was a touch of malice in his voice, an edge of danger, and Potter straightened his stance. He looked more intrigued than frightened, though, and that heartened Severus. It was an act, of course, and perhaps Potter knew that. Perhaps he was accustomed to clients with similar proclivities.

_Or perhaps not._

Perhaps he was _still_ attracted to danger. Perhaps he thrived on adrenaline rushes.

Severus finished loosening the corset and laid it across his lap. 

“A woman would drop this over her head – her hips would prevent it from being drawn up from the floor. You, however, should be able to step into it. Adjusting it will take some time.” 

He held the corset out.

“Come, step into it. You may hold onto my shoulder to steady yourself.”

Potter complied immediately, stepping into the loosened garment and standing dutifully still as Severus pulled it up, carefully maneuvering it around his genitals, which, like chest and legs, were depiliated. Genetics had gifted Potter an attractive cock, proportionate to his frame, with bollocks to match. As he adjusted the garment, Severus gave a quick yet careful tug on that lovely cock to keep it below the edge of the corset.

Potter groaned and gripped his shoulder.

“Patience, Liam,” Severus murmured. 

He stood, brushing close to his paramour and walking around him to check the fit in the back.

The garment ended just at the cleft of the arse, accentuating its swell. Severus gave a few tugs at the laces, securing the corset, then, leaning into Potter’s back, reached around to adjust the top edge where it was meant to push up against the bust, aligning it properly so that the pectoral flesh was forced inward and upward. When the laces were tightened – and he did mean to tighten them securely – the resulting profile would be sensually delightful. The slight swell of the masculine, muscled chest, the faint redness from the chaffing, the glisten of perspiration, cock and balls outlined by the lacy pants and deep green edging of the corset itself.  But mostly – ah, mostly – the flushed cheeks, the accelerated breathing, the not-quite-struggle for breath.

Satisfied, he positioned Potter, guiding him by the hips until he could reach forward to brace himself against the back of the chair, and started to draw up the lacing.

Potter remained remarkably still through the initial process. Fortunately, Severus had estimated the position of his waist correctly, so the center loops were aligned appropriately. He drew the loops tight, tugging each side expertly, and watched critically as the edges pulled closer together. He looped the ribbons around his hands, drawing them toward him again – slowly, with gentle but firm pressure, taking up the slack as the lace slid through the grommets.

Potter’s breath hitched and he steadied himself on the chair with his right arm.

“That’s – different,” he said. It wasn’t a complaint – not yet. A new sensation, one to try out, to taste, to consider before weighing in with a like or dislike.

“Inhale, then hold your breath for a few seconds, then exhale – but slowly, very slowly.”

Snape’s voice was deceptively calm, cleverly sultry, even as the familiar pull of desire settled low in his belly. He waited for Harry to suck in his breath, then pulled the laces marginally tighter with the slow exhale.

_Gorgeous._

The seams of the garment were knitting together now, and Severus used his index fingers to tug from the bottom where the gape was most pronounced. He let his thumbs graze over Potter’s cleft, then used them to briefly press against the firm flesh of his buttocks.

“One more time for me, Liam,” he purred. “Inhale, then a long, slow release….”

His cock, fully erect now and pressing up and nearly out of his loose trousers, liked the sound of that word.

“Alright.” The man’s voice was breathy. He was breathing more quickly than normal, but doing admirably well for never having been laced up like this before. There was no terror in his voice – a bit of trepidation, perhaps, but he wasn’t panicked by the unusual feeling, and he dutifully sucked in a breath, held it a moment, then began to let it out.

Severus tugged, holding the top of the loop steady and tightening from the bottom. He held the ends of the laces tight in his fists, standing close enough to Potter now to rub his groin against the delightful firm, lace-covered buttocks. The lace of the pants exposed a good bit of cleft, and Severus rested his chin on the man’s shoulder, glancing down approvingly at the lean profile, the plump cock half erect now.

Well, well, well. 

Severus rubbed his chin, end-of-day stubble and all, into the crook of neck and shoulder.

“That’s good. That’s very good.” He blew down on a dusky nipple, then transferred both laces to one hand and circled Potter’s body with the other, moving his hand up and swiping a thumb over the nub as he clenched the laces in his other fist, twisting it a fraction to tighten it just enough more for Potter to feel it.

Potter sucked in a breath, then bit his bottom lip.

Severus dropped his hand reluctantly, then, satisfied with his lacing, tied off the corset and slowly turned Potter around. He took two steps back, admiring his handiwork.

“You can breathe, yes?” he asked. 

Potter nodded. “It’s not exactly comfortable,” he said but, as he spoke, his hands moved over the artificial swell of his chest, then down over the silk surface of the garment to his stomach. He explored the bottom of the corset, working a finger under the edge to test the tightness. He glanced up at Severus. “May I see?”

Severus nodded but remained where he was while Potter walked over to the floor-length mirror hung on the back of the bathroom door. Potter stood there for a long moment, all tousled hair and long, smooth, muscular legs and lace-back corset cinching him in like every one of Severus’ fantasies.

“Kinky bastard,” Potter said, half under his breath. But there was a smile on his face, a pleased sort of look Severus hadn’t seen on the others who’d worn that same corset, the Draco Malfoy wannabes, the insolent almost-Sirius-Blacks and in the beginning, before he’d deviated a bit more outside the Wizarding norm, the redheaded not-quite-Lilys and the voluptuous pseudo-Bellatrix.

Potter turned to face him.

“You live as a Muggle, don’t you?” he asked, the look on his face one of surprised understanding. “You couldn’t have – no.” He gestured around him, brushed his hand down his side. “Not in the magical world. Not – not _this_. It wouldn’t – it wouldn’t _fit_.”

Oddly, despite Potter’s lack of eloquence, Snape understood. Understood exactly why Harry Potter was here – here now, with him. _Here_ in a wider, more general sense.

“Yes  - and that is as much as I will reveal.  No wheres or hows or whats or whys. Do not ask.”

They locked eyes for an uncomfortably long moment.

“We understand each other, then?”

Potter jerked his head in a nod. He took a moment to pull himself back in character and, when he looked at Severus again, it was with the coy, sultry look of a man about to be on the receiving end of an extremely thorough fucking.

Potter looked extremely pretty spread out on the white sheets moments later. Severus had positioned him on his back with his knees up and spread, heels tucked nearly back against his buttocks, pillow under his hips. In this position, the corset pushed up firmly against the almost-swell of the chest, creating the illusion of masculine curves. He’d divested Potter of the panties before tipping him onto the bed, standing behind him, millimeters of heat-infused air separating them, as he pushed the lacy garment down with practiced ease.  

Potter proved to be extremely supple and held the position without complaint. His former defiant student was chock full of surprises.

The first of his lube-coated fingers slid in to the knuckle and Potter grunted but obligingly bore down on it, contracting his muscles as he kept his hands above him on the headboard, exactly where Severus had placed them.

Fuck, he was tight! Almost impossibly so, given what Severus now knew of his weekend activities. Potter moaned as he pressed in all the way. He slowly pumped the finger in and out until the grunts became moans and Potter became accustomed to the intrusion, finding his rhythm as Snape pushed in with a twist. A second finger beside the first and the young man tensed, but Severus persisted, grinding the two in and out, wrapping an arm around a muscled thigh, nuzzling his mouth against the smooth, bare skin.

It took some time to work up to three – three fingers sliding together into Harry Potter’s body as the Auror began to pant, inevitable as it was with the finger fucking he was receiving and the continued compression of his diaphragm by the corset’s whalebone stays.

“What do the others do to you, then, Liam?” Severus asked as he rubbed his stubbled cheek against a glass-smooth thigh. “The other men who’ve had you – do they take you face down on the bed? Against the wall? I wager they never even see your face, not with an arse like this to work.” He didn’t wait for an answer and Potter, perhaps realising the question was a rhetorical one, didn’t offer a reply but let his knees drop even wider, canting his hips and thrusting against Severus’ hand. “Have you seen the value yet of your new garment? How it compresses the lungs, the diaphragm? How it forces you to survive for a short time on a bit less oxygen? How it makes your brain just a bit befuddled, so that when I finally allow you to come, the feeling will be exponentially heightened? Prolonged?” He continued, voice hardly more than a whisper, as Potter moaned and thrust forward, his prick bouncing off the hem of the corset. “It may very well be the best orgasm of your life, Liam.”

Potter was panting audibly now, squeezing his buttocks around Snape’s fingers.

“How many times do you think I can make you come? How long can I draw this out?” He withdrew his fingers, squeezed even more lube on them, and held all four together and pushed back into the pliant body as he watched Potter’s attractive face work through the pressure, slowly morphing from discomfort to pleasure. 

“I brought dildos with me – something to work into you while I stave off my own orgasm and reduce you to a quivering pulp. How much more can you take, Liam?”

“I could…I could  take Hagrid…about now,” Potter panted, breaking character.

Snape laughed. “Coincidentally, I call my largest one Hagrid,” he said. “How fortunate that I brought it with me tonight.”

“Fucker,” moaned Potter, breath coming out in short bursts. “Thought…thought you said you wouldn’t…wouldn’t put anything in my arse you wouldn’t put in your….your own.”

“I did say that,” Snape said.

Potter moaned.

“I can take it,” he said. “All of it.”

“Whether you can or not is irrelevant,” Snape answered. “For you most certainly _will_.”

Fortunately, even Hagrid proved no match for Harry Potter.

Snape positioned Potter with his feet on the floor, his arse in the air and his elbows on the bed, the tip of his leaking cock bobbing against the sheets. It was one of Severus’ favorite positions, and he would have fucked the boy himself at this point and be damned with it if the man hadn’t been so cocky and he hadn’t been so eager to work the dildo into his delectable but insolent arse.

And waiting, staving off orgasm even longer– with his cock as hard as stone and desire pooled like molten lead in his gut – made the eventual culmination all the sweeter.

After all, Potter shouldn’t have all the fun.

He left Potter in position as he retrieved the dildo from its box in the drawer, then sat in the chair to lube it up. Potter watched him, head turned to the side, resting on his arms. The dildo really was obscene – longer and thicker than even a generous cock, and moulded with grotesque veins. 

“Have you had one this large before?” Snape asked, keeping his voice deceptively casual, conversational.

“A time or two.” Potter shifted, closing his eyes with a frustrated sigh as his cock slid against the sheets.

“And…?” prompted Snape.

Potter took a moment to look down and back at the tightly laced corset. His face was flushed as he looked back at Snape. 

“Never like this,” he answered. He watched Severus work the lube over the cock and chanced, “You’re certainly not boring.”

Snape stood, brandishing the dildo like a wand.

“That’s what this is about, is it not?” he concluded as he positioned himself behind Potter and drizzled more lube over his already pliant pucker. He pushed in with a thumb, then popped it out and nudged the head of the dildo against the hole. “Despite that life you live, that wonderful life with your lovely and clever wife and that growing family of perfect little wizard replacements for the people you’ve lost, you’re _bored_.” He applied more pressure to the phallus, watching another half inch disappear into Potter’s body as the man dropped his head and let out a guttural moan. He didn’t even protest Snape’s malevolent assessment of his children as replacements.

“Bored, bored, bored.” He patted the end of the dildo with each word, driving it incrementally deeper. “You are a danger junkie – you need more than life at home offers, more even than you get as an Auror. Domestic disputes, petty robberies, the occasional crime of a more serious nature….”

There was nothing sexual about what he was saying, what he was guessing about Potter’s life, about why he was lying here on Severus’ hotel bed with a nineteenth-century corset laced up his pretty back and a dildo bigger than any cock Severus had ever seen disappearing up his arse. Yet saying the words, laying it all bare, turned him on nearly as much as the boy’s quite fit body and perfectly lovely demeanor. Fully three inches of the phallus was inside the boy’s body now, and he slowly twisted it, turning it so that the head might nudge that magic spot.

Potter grunted suddenly, throwing his head back.

“God – fuck – there. Right there.” 

He was breathing rapidly, panting, and Snape took pity and gave him another slow, steady inch.

“You could bring a strap-on home for your wife – buy it in any Muggle sex shop. You could suggest a threesome and take her from behind, up the arse. Perhaps you could shave that pretty pussy, pretend she was a schoolgirl again, take her in a Hogwarts uniform with that Gryffindor scarf tied around her neck….”

“Goddamn it, Snape!”

Potter thrust back and Snape knew – he _knew_ \- that Potter was more turned on than he’d ever been. That Snape was replaying his every fantasy, all the deviant acts he could never do, all the sexual escapades he would never experience in the magical world. Potter’s body quivered as he huffed with the effort of drawing out the pleasure. 

“Touch me. Goddamn it, Snape – touch me!”

Snape showed no mercy.

“I should photograph you like this – that corset pushing up your pectoral muscles, your hairless legs, this dildo half up your arse, the biggest thing you’ve ever taken. You’d keep that photo – you’d masturbate with it. You’ll remember me even without a photo, though– you’ll come back for more. One time will never be enough. Not when you have to go back to the vanilla sex in your marital bed. I imagine she doesn’t even take you in her mouth, does she, _Liam_? I bet it’s face to face and maybe, if you’re lucky, she’ll let you touch her breast when what you really want to do is stick your tongue up her arse, or watch one of your Auror friends take her against a wall while you hide in the cupboard. Can you imagine her with rings through her nipples? Pretty little rings of gold you can tug, that you can feel as you suck her until she comes rutting against your leg?”

Potter was sweating so profusely that drops of perspiration were sliding across his buttocks. He’d begun to rut against the bed, so Snape pushed against the back of his knees until he was kneeling on the end of the bed, cock suspended, frictionless, above the mattress.

“Can you come untouched? Can you come just thinking of your lovely wife watching me fuck you with this dildo? Fondling her own breasts guiltily, her fingers working over her clit as you strain to take it? As you struggle to breathe with a beautiful corset cinching you tight? As I work this lovely toy so deep in your body you can feel it in your _throat_?”

His own cock was so hard, his balls so tight, he thought he might come himself without the pleasure of sampling the lovely body before him.

He could wait no longer.

He extracted the dildo slowly as he unzipped his flies and dropped trou.  The dildo popped out with a grotesque squelching sound, and Snape dropped it, stepped out of his trousers and pants, and lined his own cock against Potter’s arse, then pressed in, hardly giving Potter time to feel the loss of the dildo.

Potter let out an unholy gasp, followed by a string of profanities. Snape pulled his legs back off the bed and onto the floor, forcing him to support his weight as he pistoned in and out, nearly insane from how long he’d denied himself this pleasure. His cock was cocooned in a tight, hot mantle of pleasure. He started to see spots before his eyes as he gripped Potter’s hip with one hand and worked his other under to grab the long-neglected cock.

Two pulls and Potter was beginning to hyperventilate. Three more and he came with a throttled, breathless scream, pulsing all over Snape’s hand as his arse contracted almost viciously around Snape’s cock. His arms collapsed and he fell onto the bed and Severus, staying astride that perfect arse, followed him down as he continued to thrust, burying himself to the hilt as the pent-up well within him finally exploded.

Orgasm was a petit mort that left him half-senseless. Wave after wave of pleasure, unlike anything he’d felt before, longer, more drawn out, more wrenchingly pleasureful. He barely had the presence of mind to maneuver himself off Potter, to pull the corset ties loose and roll him on his back. Finally, he heard Potter suck in a long breath.

It took a very long time before Potter’s breathing evened out.

“That – that was – how the _fuck_ …?”

Snape laughed.

“This is enough, you know.”

It was an unusual thing to say – right after a sexual experience of that magnitude.

Snape was aware that Potter was speaking to him as Potter, as the Boy-Who-Lived-turned-Auror.

“Just once or twice a month. When the need gets too big.”

“I lead an uneventful life,” Snape admitted, speaking to the ceiling, not looking at Potter. “It’s everything I need and want – except when it’s not.”

Another long, comfortable silence followed.

“Who knows about you?” Harry asked at last. “How do you get – news? Is it Malfoy? Because goddamnit, he _swore_ to me he doesn’t know anything.”

“Malfoy?” Snape chuckled. “Why does it have to be anyone?”

“Because you know about me – about my job. My family.”

Snape didn’t answer right away. “I read _The Prophet_ , Potter. And I know your mind. It is, surprisingly, very much like my own.”

They lay there for several more minutes, unmoving, then Potter rolled over and stood. He looked like he’d just been fucked through the mattress. Snape wished he had bones left in his body – he’d love to repeat the entire performance – he doubted he’d change a thing.

Potter looked at Snape a long time, then snapped his fingers and reached up to grab a business card that was floating down on the air. He placed it carefully on the bed beside Severus.

“Next time, let’s skip Antoinette,” he said. “When that uneventful life needs a touch of magic.”

He picked up his clothes and disappeared into the loo, walking remarkably well for a wizard who’d just taken on Hagrid.

Severus barely heard the crack of Apparation a few minutes later.

It didn’t sound like a goodbye.

He lay there a few more moments, eyes closed, recalling how he’d spoken aloud those filthy thoughts, how much they’d keyed him up, how his cock in Potter’s arse had felt like the culmination of the most depraved and sensual sexual act of his life.

He reached for the card Potter had left on the bed.

He read it, committing the e-mail address to memory, then tucked it inside his book, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](http://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3728458.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1665595.html), or [Dreamwidth](http://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/971208.html).


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